


Hung the Moon

by ashes0909



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, POV Katsuki Yuuri, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 13:00:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20742605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashes0909/pseuds/ashes0909
Summary: In the middle of everything spiraling out of control, Yuuri snuck away.





	Hung the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> This was my fic for the Yuri!!! On Ice Shibari Zine! Thank you so much for everyone who organized and supported the zine, and also to festiveferret for the beta. <3

"Yuuri, starting today, I'm your coach. I'll make you win the Grand Prix Final."

Viktor at Yutopia. Viktor standing in front of him. Nothing made any sense at all. “What?!” Yuuri heard himself squawk. Viktor was also naked, very naked, with an outstretched hand full of promises. 

“I’ve been travelling for a long while. Food? And sleep?” He yawned, somehow able to make even that look sexy. “Then I’ll explain.”

After that, Viktor was a whirlwind in a green yukata, charming his mother into katsudon and asking Yuuri all sorts of questions and laying out all sorts of demands. Dangling this impossible reality--that Viktor would coach Yuuri--in front of him, only to put all sorts of conditions on that promise. 

Viktor’s first night at Yutopia, Yuuri holed himself up in his room with posters of Viktor shoved under his bed, and his heart pounding. Yuuri was happy, excited. And he was also terrified. His stomach churned like he was about to try a new jump for the very first time. With his face in his hands and his eyes watering, his nightstand sung out to him. His ropes. 

He reached out blindly, hand on the handle without even thinking, but then beyond the door he heard the shuffle, Viktor clearing his throat, and Yuuri could picture his bare feet as they pivoted on the worn wood. He pulled his hand away, somehow feeling too close to the man, the thin walls not enough to separate Viktor from something too private to share. 

Turning onto his side instead, Yuuri let his pounding heart drum him off to sleep. 

_ Three Years Earlier _

Yuuri circled the center of the ice, four previous falls had left aches and pains all up and down his body. It was his worst training session of the week and he was still no closer to getting his quad salchow landing down. Celestino was on the other side of the boards, arms crossed and wearing a very, very, angry expression, because he'd told Yuuri to get off the ice two attempts ago. Yuuri had pretended not to hear him.

There were definitely going to be consequences. 

He didn't care. His heart pounded blood against his eardrums, putting a barrier between him and anything else but his need to land this jump. It made his hands shake and his jaw clench and none of that was good for his posture or execution. It was time to do what he should've done two attempts ago: stop. 

Phichit was on the ice near the exit, playing with his phone, but he looked up to give Yuuri a commiserating smile. 

It wasn't what he wanted at all. 

Yuuri was...something. Pent up and overheated. His eyes stung as his fists clenched and he wanted to talk to absolutely no one. He also couldn't seem to catch his breath; a sob built but couldn’t make it out of his chest. It weighed there, pressing down. 

He shared an apartment with Phichit and normally Yuuri would wait by the boards until the other skater was done training and then they'd walk home together. 

Today was not a normal day. 

He waited just long enough to pack his skates into his bag and he was out the door, wincing as it slammed behind him. They'd think he was upset, a talentless skater that could barely do a consistently clean routine. He'd meant to slip away. 

The sob broke free and he barely managed to cut it off so it sounded like an insufferable whine. Weak. He needed to go. The jog to his apartment was a little over two miles but he was home before he knew it. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow, but the exertion felt like a lie, because he still felt like a tiger in a cage--pacing and pacing and pacing. 

Up the stairs and two long strides down the hallway and he was in his room. Shutting the door behind him, Yuuri threw himself on the bed and pulled out his phone. He went to social media first, before promptly surfing away. 

There were things that made him happy, calmed him down, but the only thing that was coming to mind was the constant fall, over and over and over again. Without a reliable quad, he was practically useless. Sure he had artistry, but… he surfed down a rabbit hole or a dozen and then, in a fandom forum of his favorite anime, he read five words that changed everything: The ropes helped me relax. 

Ropes. He'd never thought much of ropes before. After another quick internet search he stumbled into the wide world of shibari and suspension. His jaw unclenched, but his pulse still raced. The man in the photo looked beautiful, serene. It looked comforting almost, how his form bent and folded into the embrace of the ropes. 

They had rope in their apartment. He’d seen Phichit buy some for a cosplay vest he’d made. Yuuri remembered it, soft, smooth, when Phichit had glued it to his costume. It was in their “anything” drawer now, one step away from being tossed away. 

No one was home; Phichit was still at the rink.

Yuuri ran downstairs then snuck back into bed, with the rope gripped tightly in his hands. He sat on his sheets, calves tucked under his thighs. With a deep breath, Yuuri wrapped it around his leg, like he’d read online. With his leg tied together, he took the long length and twisted it around his forearm. Yuuri’s breath caught. He moved his arm and his leg was forced to pull across his bed. 

Yuuri’s existence narrowed, the endless cycle of thought quieting entirely into silence. All he focused on now was the narrow strip of skin under the rope, the strength of it pressing in, containing him until there was just breathing in, and out, in and out. 

When he unravelled the rope, hours or minutes later, the calmness stayed with him even as the blood rushed down his leg as he bent it and lowered his feet back onto the floor. 

The ropes were stashed away in his bedside table but the feeling he found with them lingered long after.

_ Present Day _

In the middle of everything spiraling out of control, Yuuri snuck away. Viktor had gone out, taking Yurio on a quick trip to the store to pick up everything he’d left in Russia that he'd need for an extended stay in a foreign country. They hadn’t been gone long, and Yuuri knew he’d have some much needed privacy, at least for a little while. 

First Viktor, then Yurio, and now the ice show at Ice Castle--Everything was happening so fast, and he hardly had time to adjust, let alone feel confident that he could beat the Russian Ice Tiger and keep Viktor as his coach.

In his rooms, things were quiet but with so much change, and all of it so quickly, he couldn’t stop the loops in his mind, that Viktor was here, would be here, for as long as Yuuri could keep him. He sat on the bed and took a deep, unsteady breath and tried to let silence settle around his room. It was the familiar surroundings of his childhood bedroom, but the room was like a time capsule, frozen from before he’d left Japan. His eyes flicked to the nightstand. One thing had changed.

Yuuri wanted.

He reached for the drawer. Inside there was a box, its lid sleek, black, a thick cardboard that caught a bit of resistance against the air when he pulled it open. 

The black corded cable was twisted along itself into a perfect figure eight. Yuuri pulled it out and shut the lid. He used one hand to push down his sweatpants, more focused on the rope and the steady thrum in his veins, so different from the anxiety of earlier, yet so similar in how it felt, running through him. 

He pulled off his shirt as he stood, letting the rope fall out into one long line. After a moment, where he made sure he couldn’t hear a sound from the rest of the inn, Yuuri pulled along the rope until he reached the middle of the length, then put that part behind his neck, letting the rest of it hang long on either side, like a tie or one of Viktor’s scarves. 

He’d done this pattern before, many times. The Tortoise shell was a comforting, familiar embrace around his chest, one his hands practically tied on their own. He brought the two ends together and tied like a necktie, an overhand knot, letting the two ropes hang for a moment before continuing down his chest, tying another overhand knot in the center of his breastbone, before finishing it off with a third knot at his belly button. The rest of the rope hung long and he wrapped it up, between his legs, the two sides parting a bit around his cloth covered cock.

Yuuri knew that before long he’d be straining through his briefs, his cock thrumming and half hard when he lifted the ropes up along his spine, until he was able to pull them through the middle of the rope that wrapped around the nape of his neck. From there he brought the edges back around his front, each one going under one of his arms to the front of his chest. 

He did this over and over until his chest and stomach were decorated in diamond shapes, the rope resting against his skin, the perfect amount of pressure, a harness of corded rope and safety. The bed pressed against the back of his knees, and Yuuri sat, gently, without dislodging any of his design. He rolled onto his back, delighting in the pull against his skin. 

Time passed, each breath constricting the ropes until he let out his next exhale, and they moved with it. Yuuri had no idea how long it had been when he heard a sound from downstairs. It didn’t sound like Viktor and Yurio--thankfully. Viktor would’ve been much louder than the quiet shuffling of what was probably Mari. It was enough to rouse him though, remind him that soon they would return and if they didn’t go find them, Viktor would find him.

Something about that thought, the certainty of it--Outside of the ropes it may have made his heart rush but in their sweet hold, he couldn’t do more than muse its truth. 

One breath in. One breath out. And then he shifted, lifting and undoing the knot against his spine. 

He moved to sit up and began the long unravel. The fresh air hit him and rippled sensations across sensitive skin. By the time Viktor and Yurio returned, his ropes were hidden where they belonged, tucked into his nightstand drawer, but he still felt the echo of them against his skin.

~~~

It continued like that, Yuuri finding moments to hide away and tie himself up. Sometimes, it was just one line of rope around his thighs and calves. Other times, it was something more intricate like the first tortoise shell he wrapped himself in--but always it was when he was alone in the house, or knew where everyone was, that they could be accounted for. It worked, Yurio left and Yuuri made progress on his programs. Viktor debuted as a coach and Yuuri qualified for the Grand Prix, and time passed, they trained, and Yuuri tied himself up whenever the idea struck him, and his circumstances allowed it. 

Until, one day, Yuuri’s accounting didn’t add up, and Viktor wasn’t where he was supposed to be. 

“Yuuri--” His name, drawn out in Viktor’s familiar whine, and then the door was sliding open and Yuuri was shirtless in boxers, legs up on his bed, tied together in a lacing pattern from above his ankles to the tops of his thighs. The door slid open and Viktor froze midstep, mouth hung mid word as everything seemed to overload inside his mind. 

“Close the door,” Yuuri hissed, because the last thing he needed was anyone else seeing. He meant for Viktor to be on the other side of that door when he closed it, but of course Viktor took a step forward and pulled it shut behind him. Yuuri went to his ankles, releasing the knot and starting to let everything else unravel. 

“Wait--” Viktor stepped forward and it was Yuuri’s turn to freeze in shock. “I mean..” Viktor continued. “You don’t have to take it off it, um.” He swallowed, and Yuuri followed the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing, knew that while Viktor had seen him in just boxers before--this was something entirely, viscerally, fundamentally different. Yuuri was exposed, open to someone--to Viktor--in a way he never had before. What he had kept hidden, this solace, this guilty pleasure he’d found, Viktor now knew. And he wasn’t turning away in confusion, or disgust. He wasn’t judging Yuuri or making him feel like a freak. He was stepping forward with a hand outstretched, only remembering to ask when he was hovering above the rope. “Can I?” 

Viktor kept his gaze on the ropes so he couldn’t see Yuuri’s nod. He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

Viktor’s touch was light, brushing over the rope along his calf, then down over the stripe of exposed skin between lines of rope. Yuuri pressed his lips together against the gasp he couldn’t help making. The touch of someone else’s hand, of  _ Viktor’s _ hand, it sent a heat through his body. 

“This is very pretty,” Viktor commented, conversationally, like he was discussing an art piece instead of an erotic display of amature ropeplay. The heat was forming into embarrassment again, and Yuuri shuffled in the ropes, only stopping when Viktor’s grip fixed against the side of his thigh. “Do you think I could try it?” 

The question threw Yuuri. “Anyone could do it. Or do you mean, like borrow them? The ropes?” He leaned forward again to start to untie them but Viktor’s hand settled on top of his own. 

“No. Your rope tying is the pretty one. I want to try  _ yours _ .” It was the same whine he made when he wanted Yuuri to take him sightseeing or asked him about some detail of his past Yuuri didn’t want to share. But this...it was intimate. More intimate then when Viktor rubbed his lip his first night here, surrounded by CedEx boxes. 

It was forming, though, this image of Viktor in the center of his room, ropes tying his arms behind his back in a dragonfly sleeve. He’d be beautiful with an arched back, long expanse of creamy skin for Yuuri to see. Or maybe he’d wrap his ropes around Viktor’s chest, or bind his forearms together over his head. 

“Yuuri, you’re not answering but you seem to--” he cleared his throat, gesturing between Yuuri’s legs. “Like the idea. So maybe next time you have them out, text me!” Then he gave Yuuri his heart-shaped smile and left the room. Leaving Yuuri to fall back onto the bed and wonder if the whole interaction was some fever dream. It was much easier to focus on that than if he was really going to take Viktor up on his offer or not. 

~~~

Time passed. Yuuri hid away the ropes as he hid away Viktor’s offer. Sometimes, when he was on the ice or jogging--a mindless task that’d allow his mind to wander--he’d picture it again: Viktor in the ropes, Viktor asking for the ropes. But then he’d sweep it back into the box in the corner of his mind where it belonged and continue the task at hand. 

And then Viktor kissed him at the Cup of China. 

He’d won silver, and done a quad flip, but still Viktor managed to surprise him. Now, sitting in bed, a rest day scheduled before intensive Rostelecom Cup training began, Yuuri found he wanted to have the last word. He wanted to surprise Viktor again, but more than that, he didn’t want to deny himself something he knew he wanted when it was being willingly offered. 

Yuuri wasn’t going to text him. Not because he didn’t want to leave a trace of this, but because this was something he wanted to be with Viktor for, every step of the way. Viktor’s room wasn’t far, just down the hall, and when he knocked it was more hesitant than usual. 

“Come in,” Viktor said, keeping his voice low. Yuuri slid opened the door, slipped in, and closed it behind him. He stayed close to it, hands twisting behind his back. Yuuri swallowed, the invitation sticking in his throat, but Viktor read it anyway, in the clench of his hands and bite of his lip. 

“Yes!” Viktor answered the unasked question in a barely contained whisper. 

Yuuri swallowed. “Then follow me.” 

The walk from Viktor’s room to his own was both too long and too short, his mind was screaming--This was Viktor.  _ Viktor Nikiforov _ . The man he’s wanted since before he knew what wanting was, and now this man wanted one of Yuuri’s most deepest secrets and he was unable, unwilling, to deny him.

He’d watched more than a few videos over the years, but still he swallowed and when he spoke his words were too soft at first. “On the bed. Please. Unless you’d be more comfortable on my chair but--”

Viktor moved to the bed. Yuuri took a steadying breath. “I’ve never--” He swallowed, trying to find his words as he moved towards the nightstand. Viktor’s gaze was fixed on him, uncharacteristically quiet. “Before. With anyone else. I haven’t.” 

Viktor smiled, excitement making him bounce a bit on the bed. “Me either.”

“I know.” 

The opening of the drawer broke through the silence that followed, his hand shaking as he reached in for the box. He’d be lying if he hadn’t thought about how Viktor would look all strung up. The black rope was there waiting when Yuuri opened the box. It was the same black rope, the same familiar figure eight, but with Viktor’s soft breathing over his shoulder, everything was different. 

“Have you,” he began, swallowing again. “Did you look up any particular designs?”

He heard Viktor’s shuffle on the bed, turned to watch him shaking his head. His eyes were on his lap, he was already sitting in the perfect pose to bind his legs. When he looked up at Yuuri, it was through thick, silver lashes. “I thought maybe you’d have one in mind?”

Yuuri’s breath came out in a ragged chuckle and he felt his cheeks flush. 

“Yuuri!” Viktor smiled, a small thing that made him look as tentative as Yuuri felt. “What have you been thinking?”

“Well…” This was it, and it felt remarkably like when he first stepped foot on the ice of his first ISU competition. He wanted this so bad, all he had to do was reach out and take it. Sitting on the bed next to Viktor was easy, turning towards him and tugging at his shirt was harder but it made Viktor’s breath catch and suddenly he was moving, pulling off his shirt and he was as bare chested as the day he saw him in the onsen. 

“What next?” Viktor’s words were rushed, excited, but barely whispered. Yuuri was sitting close enough to hear them. 

“I always...Your chest. The muscle, how broad you are. It’s gorgeous.”

“Yuuri!” Viktor was blushing now, and something in it emboldened Yuuri. He pulled the rope out of the box and let it sprawl by his side against the bed before he started running it through his hands. It transfixed Viktor, caught his eye and didn’t let it go. 

Without him looking, while being able to look at his lips, parted and wet, Yuuri replied, “An arm binding tie. With your arms behind your back, your pecs would stick out so….”

“So?” Viktor prompted, looking at Yuuri again.

He couldn’t quite hold the gaze, dropped it back to the ropes. “Hot. Beautiful. Sexy.”

“Yes.”

Yuuri chuckled weakly. “You don’t have to say yes just because--”

“Yes, yes.” Viktor shuffled closer, so their faces were centimeters apart. “Yes,” he said again before kissing him. 

“Okay,” Yuuri breathed when they broke apart. The ropes were gripped tightly in his hand. Every other time he’d done this, it’d been a rush of anxiety he was looking to seek comfort from. But this rush, this desire, he dove right into it. 

Viktor’s skin was smooth under his hands, and he knew that but never knew it like this, never had Viktor moving under his direction, bringing his shoulder blades together as goosebumps broke along his skin, all because of Yuuri’s touch. 

“Like this?” Viktor asked, arms behind his back and chest sticking out just like Yuuri had imagined. It was like seeing a dream come to life, one that was faint and hardly remembered but felt so strongly it ached. 

“Yes,” he whispered. “Just like that. Loose, so it doesn’t strain.” 

Yuuri bent the rope in two and put the middle along the top of his spine, wrapping the long ends together around his shoulders. Each time he passed he couldn’t help but brush against Viktor’s skin, a pulse of desire building at every little gasp that left Viktor’s lips. After a few wraps around his broad shoulders, Yuuri pulled the long lengths of remaining rope through the loop that waited at the top of his spine. 

Viktor, as if sensing where Yuuri was going with this, clasped his hands behind his back and brought his elbows together. “Beautiful,” slipped out from Yuuri unbidden, an automatic reaction that made Viktor moan. Yuuri wanted to kiss him but instead he brought his hands to his wrists, tugging them slightly apart so that it wouldn’t strain. Then he started another binding loop above his wrist. 

“Yuuri, Yuuri!”

“Yes?” He reached for Viktor’s other wrist, securing it into place before he bound the two together with an intent focus. 

“So good,” Viktor whispered and Yuuri couldn’t help but lean in and kiss his bound together arms. When he tied himself, Yuuri lost himself into it, was able to shut out the rest of the world. And he had that here too, couldn’t even remember what anxiety felt like, not when he was running his hands up over Viktor’s bound arms and making the man shiver and writhe from the simple touch. The touch of his hands, of his ropes. 

This was different. Having Viktor under him like this wasn’t a cure for the rushing thoughts in his mind, it wasn’t a coping mechanism or a way to settle and focus. Having Viktor tied, wanting, so damn responsive, was an all consuming experience. There was nothing else but this. 

He brought the rope up again, ran it through the loop at his shoulder blades, then pulled. Viktor’s back arched and the noise he let out sounded almost like a howl. “Oh Yuuri, yes, yes, I like this!”

His nipples caught in the dim bedside light as he arched and Yuuri couldn’t resist. “I want to touch--”

“Yes!” Yuuri kept the rope in one hand and let the other one wander over the curve of his pec, letting his palm play at Viktor’s nipple. Every place he wanted to touch, he touched, and Viktor wanted too, kept moaning and writhing and unable to do anything but take what Yuuri gave him. “Is it always like this?” Viktor asked between moans.

Yuuri felt in command, focused, alive. “It’s never been like this before.” 

~~~

Rostelecom Cup was a week away and Yuuri fell, again. He clenched his jaw because he needed to land this jump. He had the quad salchow but it wouldn’t be enough and the flip...something about missing the landing of the flip, with Viktor watching, it made his blood rush too fast, spurred on by embarrassment more than his usual self-deprecating anger. He clenched his fists by his side and gritted his teeth, gliding on the ice and beginning to try again.

But before he could move into his entryway Viktor was by his side, tugging lightly at his arm. “You’re not going to improve when your head's not into it.”

“It is!” he snapped back, then winced because yelling at Viktor wouldn’t help him land the man’s signature jump. “I have to. I just need to be a little bit better--”

Viktor tilted his head like he was listening but Yuuri could tell he wasn’t. Instead of replying he skated into Yuuri, wrapped his arms around him tight. “You could stay out here. Skate yourself into a wreck, either with the ice or with your own head. Or...you could come home and tie me up.”

Yuuri dug his toe pick into the ice and met Viktor’s eye. “I need to practice but...when did you get so smart?” It was in his mind now, the simple suggestion powerful enough to derail his anger, obliterate his inner monologue of doubt. With Viktor looking at him like he hung the moon and wanted to be tied up right next to it, bound in Yuuri’s ropes.

He knew Viktor was right, but more than that, he wanted. So he reached, wrapped his hand above Viktor’s wrist, mirroring the familiar path of his ropes, and led him, calm and sure, off the ice. 

_ fin _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
